Where the Sabots Clatter Again | Page 4

has lain barren. But today
stand up, O children, and listen and feel. We are united in these ruins
by more than sorrow. What are these pulsations that beat this day upon
our soul?"
The words flowed on following the ancient grooves of sermons, but the
loving voice thrilled us. It floated through the dim atmosphere into our
consciousness, holding us as in a dream, dovelike and soothing.
My eyes trailed to the delicate bride kneeling beside a great cracked
column, and I thought of the tiny blossom again by the road, and of
those stretches without the town, no longer gray, but brushed with new

color. I saw the daisies and the grasses waving out on No Man's Land:
like heralding banners of the triumph march they waved, leading out of
sight beyond the horizon. And as the priest talked, my heart throbbed
its own silent canticle:
"Joy in the new dawned day, and in peace-awakened fields. Hope of the
flower that blooms again. Faith in the unfolding of petals, gently,
forever, and in season."
"Soyez loué, Seigneur!" the voice deepened and concluded.
Decisively, now, burst forth the reedlike chords of music. A wave of
movement throughout the crowd. And the bowed form trembled a
moment within its sheathing veil, against the cold stone pillar.

LITTLE GRAINS OF SAND
Shall I tell you about the old woman and her statue of Sainte Claire?
She was a true native of Picardy, and if I could give you her dialect,
this story would be more amusing. We came upon her in the course of
our visits, living in her clean little house that had been well mended.
She was delighted to have someone to talk to.
"Come in, my good girl," she patronized the queenly and aristocratic
Madame de Vigny. "Come in, everybody," and we all went in.
"Sit down, my dear," again to Madame de Vigny. "Those barbarians
didn't leave me many chairs, but here is one, and this box will do for
these young ladies." She herself remained standing, a stout old body in
spite of her eighty years. Her blue eyes were clear and twinkled with
fun, and she had a mischievous way of smiling out of the corner of her
mouth, displaying two teeth. She loved her joke, this shrewd old lady.
"Dites, Madame," she said, "is it true that you give away flannel
petticoats and stockings?"
"Yes, Madame, when one has need of them."

"Is it possible? And for nothing? Ah, that is good, that is generous.
Tonight I shall tell Sainte Claire about you. Would you like to see my
'tiote[1] Sainte Claire?" We followed her back through a little yard and
down into a cellar. "You see, Mesdames, when the villains bombarded
Noyon, I stayed right here. I wasn't going to leave my home for those
people. One night the convent opposite was struck, and the next
morning in the street I found my Sainte Claire. She wasn't harmed at all,
lying on her back in the mud. 'Now God will protect me,' I said, and I
picked her up in my arms and carried her into my house. And Sainte
Claire said to me, 'Place me down in the cave, and you will be safe.' So
I brought her down."
[Footnote 1: Dialect for petite.]
She led us to a tiny underground apartment, probably a vegetable cellar,
and there, on a bracket jutting from the mildewed wall, stood the
painted plaster image of the saint.
"Voilà ma Sainte Claire!" exclaimed the old peasant woman, crossing
herself. "She and I have lived down here during the bombardment and
the entire occupation. She has protected me. Look, Madame--" and she
showed us a corner of the ceiling that had been newly repaired. "The
obus passed through here, and never touched us. I kept on praying to
the Sainte, and she said, 'Do not move and you will be safe.' All night I
was on my knees before her, and toward morning the house was
hit--only one meter away the wall fell down, and we were not harmed,
Madame, neither the Sainte nor I. Then Sainte Claire said to me, 'The
Boches are coming. Take half of your potatoes and bring them down
here.' I had a beautiful pile of potatoes, Madame, just harvested. But I
took only half and put them in a sack and stuffed it with hay. For
thirteen months, Madame, I slept on those potatoes. Then Sainte Claire
said, 'Take half your wine, and put it down the well.' I wanted to hide it
all, but she said 'No, take only half.' And I sunk one hundred bottles,
Madame, of my best wine in the well. The Boches came. Five of them
came to my house. Five grands gaillards with square heads. Oh,